Forbidden
by define-serenity
Summary: [Sebastian/Blaine] Blaine gets drunk one night during a school trip and his student Sebastian is more than willing to follow his lead. SERIES. COMPLETE.
1. Three Months

**disclaimer:** without prejudice. the names of all characters contained here-in are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. no infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

**author's notes:** based on a gifset made my **spuffina**. i have been a jittery ball of feels all day and this had to come out. so there.

* * *

**FORBIDDEN;;**

**chapter 1**

* * *

"Oh–Jesus–Se–bas–tian," he stutters as his hips snap forward, again, and again, cock driving into Sebastian's ass, the steady slap of skin against skin intermingling with the moans escaping the boy beneath him.

_It was only one drink_. _One innocent drink shared with two of the other teachers. _

"Mr Anderson," Sebastian whimpers. He's all muscle flexing around his shoulder blades, writhing, hips trying to find a rhythm between fucking back on his cock and stroking his own against the sheets.

_"Mr Anderson, what are you doing here?" Sebastian asked, eyes looking him up and down the way they always did, the way they'd been teasing for months now, devouring, long lingering glances and parted lips._

_That boy thought things about him he shouldn't, things that accompanied him when he jerked off in the morning, or late at night, or that one time in the locker room when he'd gone to see one of Sebastian's lacrosse games and he got so hard it _hurt_. _

_Sebastian had been this little cocktease for months. _

"Please," Sebastian moans. He has Sebastian pinned down on the bed, body trapped, his ass sticking up to meet his every thrust and he's perfect, thin and flawless skin and legs that run on for fucking-_ever_, fingers clawing at the sheets.

_Two drinks_. _Three drinks_. _He lost count_.

_They were alone, most of the other students had retreated back to their rooms where they contented themselves with television or their computers. Sebastian sat lounged on a large couch, reading a book, an arm behind his head, hair sticking up where he'd run his hands through it. He had a leg propped up, the other outstretched, his crotch on wide display. _

_And he _grinned_ at him. _

_"You should really lose that shirt and come to my room," he said, words not his own but rather a person inside that had wanted Sebastian spread out naked on a bed for such a long time now. "It has a strict _no shirts_ policy."_

"Don't–" he grunts and loses his rhythm, a subconscious _he's your student_ reaching up through his drunken haze but his cock's throbbing and he's so fucking close, and _sweet jesus_ Sebastian's never looked more taboo than right there, off limits but completely spread open and he ignores it, he can't think about anything else but the hard body and their cocks and–it's sex, _it's just sex_.

He pulls out, Sebastian whining in complaint, but he needs to see him, pupils blown and lips parted, he wants to watch Sebastian watching him fuck him, wants to see his leaking cock, wants to watch Sebastian come all over his chest. He flips Sebastian over like he's a rag doll, a marionette and he the puppeteer pulling at the strings.

_He heard Sebastian's gentle footfalls behind him, the door closing. He turned, letting his eyes linger like they'd done a million times as well, but never this forward, never this noticeable. Sebastian was a hard guy not to take note of, tall and lanky in a very gracious way, smart too, evidenced by an entire semester of straight A's in all his classes. Sebastian Smythe was his type through and through._

_The only problem being that he was, in fact, a junior in high school, and he was his teacher. _

_"Are you drunk, Mr Anderson?" Sebastian asked, sounding more excited than amused. _

_If he was in any state to he'd resist, he'd tell Sebastian to leave and forget this ever happened, he _was_ a strict but fair teacher. But this wasn't fair, his judgement impaired by god-knows-how-many drinks of_–_of what exactly?_

_Sebastian took a step closer._

_"Yes," he breathed and closed the distance between their bodies, hands reaching up for Sebastian's face and there was zero hesitation, Sebastian didn't wince once before his lips were working against his, hands groping at his back, fingers underneath his shirt. He pulled back, breathing hard. _

"Call me Blaine," he pants, crashing his mouth against Sebastian's, a moan and Sebastian breaks away when his cock pushes back inside that tight ass. Sebastian throws his head back, throat exposed and spreads his legs for him, twists them around his hips and he pushes in deeper.

"Fuck, Sebastian, you want this, don't you?" he gasps, a hand kneading at the fleshy skin of Sebastian's ass, hips picking up a ruthless pace, fucking in and out of Sebastian's ass, his other hand on the bare skin of Sebastian's chest. "You want this so bad."

"Y–Yes, Mr–" Sebastian chokes out broken syllables, utterly wrecked below him. "_Blaine_."

_"I thought I told you to take this off," he said, scraping fingernails down Sebastian's shirt and still a distinct lack of hesitation. Sebastian knew what he wanted, what he was getting himself into; he hooked his fingers into the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside._

_He kicked off his shoes, no socks, and removed his own shirt. Sebastian walked over, cocky almost, but he was beyond caring, desperation clawed at his ribs, and Sebastian tasted so good, his lips and tongue and the skin down his neck. He unbuckled Sebastian's belt and unzipped his pants, reaching a hand inside._

_Sebastian was already hard for him. _

_"I'm gonna fuck you tonight," he said. "Is that okay?"_

_Sebastian licked his lips and nodded. _

The sound of his name spilling freely from Sebastian's lips undoes him, his hips snap forward one time before he loses himself, his loins quivering, tip of his cock twitching inside Sebastian's ass and he comes so intensely his vision blackens for seconds. He cries out, too loud probably, thrusts becoming more shallow as he rides through his orgasm, small convulsions rattling through him.

Sebastian practically wails when he fists his cock, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair and legs tightening around his waist and he knows, he just knows Sebastian's done this before.

He strokes slowly down Sebastian's length, appreciating the way Sebastian's abdomen tighten with every stunted breath, his green eyes shining and drowning in his, and he could kiss Sebastian, but then he would miss it, the first trickle of semen smearing his fingers, and then Sebastian's coming undone, fucking himself in his hand that he tightens to prolong the pleasure, ropes of come staining his immaculate skin all over.

Sebastian comes down slow, melting down into the mattress, eyes drooping, and it's only then that he becomes aware of his own fatigue. He settles down on his side and drags Sebastian with him, licking at his lips, coaxing his mouth open while his fingers trail marks down Sebastian's back.

.

.

The next thing he knows he's waking up in his own bed, sheets tousled all around him, and Sebastian's asleep next to him. His breath hitches in his throat, panic making his heart race too fast this early in the morning as he struggles to remember if Sebastian's one of the students who got a double or a single room.

A single. Definitely a single. He'd drawn up the schedule himself. No one missed him coming to bed last night.

He sits up, too fast, because the room spins and a painful throb runs up the back of his skull, his stomach stirring with nausea–he had way too much to drink last night.

"_Fuck_," he breathes, running a hand over his face.

"Something wrong?" a sleep-filled voice sounds behind him, fingertips at the small of his back.

He glances back at the naked boy in the bed with him, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded with sleep and Sebastian looks beautiful, beauty spots he'd neglected to appreciate last night blotted down his neck, his chest and _God _he remembers it all, why did he have to remember it all? His skin tingles with excitement, the thought that he'd taken this boy to bed, off limits, _illegal_, but it fills him with a rush he's so rarely experienced before.

"I–" He sighs and turns again. "What have I done?"

He feels Sebastian's fingers trail up his spine, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin, it feels so simple and good and he wants to _bathe_ in this. And then the bed dips, Sebastian sits up and puts his lips against his shoulder.

"We didn't do anything wrong." Sebastian's voice sounds low, delicious, and it's ridiculous how badly he wants to lick his way up his throat again, suck on his lips, lose himself in an illicit affair. It was easier to resist before, now he'd know what he was missing.

"Don't kid yourself, Sebastian," he says, voice breaking, there's a weight on his chest keeping him from breathing properly, and his stomach turns. "You're a minor. If anyone found out–" He closes his eyes, releases a shuddery breath, tears threatening to overtake him, head pounding.

Sebastian's fingertips stroke down his arm. "No one has to know," he says, a kiss on his shoulder. He turns his head, arms on his raised knees, Sebastian's lips at his temple. It's so intimate it warms him to the tips of his toes. He misses this, this kind of closeness with someone, but his budding teaching career had made a social life virtually impossible.

"It's just you and me," Sebastian whispers.

Isn't that how everyone justifies these kinds of things?

His stomach turns again and he has to run for it, stumbling headfirst into the tiny bathroom, bile rising in his throat fast and he only just makes it in time before he's throwing up, his throat burning and his headache relentless.

It shouldn't have happened, he shouldn't have gotten drunk and put himself in a situation that was impossible to resist–this wasn't Sebastian's fault at all, tease or not, he should be the responsible adult in this–_whatever it is_. He's the teacher.

He finds some sweatpants to cover himself up, washes his face and brushes his teeth, but when he looks into the mirror he feels half the man he was before last night; a part of him battles with what he did and another part doesn't care, he likes Sebastian and he's always wanted to know the teen on a more personal level. But this was too much too soon. This could cost him so much, not just Sebastian, but his career, _his entire life_.

Sebastian's fully dressed when he enters the room again, tying his shoelaces. Guilt rips through him thinking about what he put Sebastian through, could potentially put him through should this ever come out. He doesn't think Sebastian would ever tell anyone, but he'll never be able to look at him the same way. Someone would notice.

"Look, Sebastian," he starts, none too sure how he's going to put this to his student. "I had a great time last night."

Sebastian stands up. "I never assumed you didn't," he says, cocky as ever and he can't help a chuckle. There's always been such a surprising ease between them.

Sebastian walks over. "And I understand that it can't happen again."

The maturity in Sebastian's words takes him by surprise–he wasn't the adult in this thing-they-did, all he did was take something he wanted in a moment of weakness; Sebastian had given himself because he wanted the same thing, not because he had any delusions about what they were doing.

Sebastian leans forward and brushes his lips over his, one hand on his cheek, the other tracing down his chest. He raises himself on his toes and captures Sebastian's lips in a kiss, the slide of his tongue against his dizzying, lips working against each other vigorously, the kiss somehow better than last night because now he had all his faculties about him.

He likes Sebastian, he really does.

Sebastian pulls away, taking a step back. "Not until I'm eighteen anyway," he adds.

The words are filled with a gravity only these kinds of situations have–this _means_ something.

_Of course_. He forgot Sebastian was held back a year after spending a few years in Paris. He's a minor, but not for much longer. He hates how his heart jumps at the realization, his lips part, but words fail him. He's not sure if he wants this to go any further, if he should even entertain the notion at this point because he's already crossed a line. If he crossed this one what's to stop him from starting something serious with Sebastian right now, without waiting for his eighteenth birthday.

"Three months," Sebastian says, the challenge landing between them, a distance not unbridgeable at all.

He could wait. And Sebastian would wait.

"I have to go," Sebastian says. "Before someone misses me." He walks right up to the door, curls a hand around the doorknob, and looks up at him one last time, winking. "See you at breakfast, Mr Anderson."

"Y–Yeah." He blinks, sagging against the doorframe.

Sebastian smiles, and it's that boyish smile that opens up his entire face; he really thinks he shouldn't be able to tell the difference already. And then Sebastian's gone, leaving him behind in an empty room, duvet bunched up at the end of the bed, condom on the floor, all the evidence of their forbidden night together for anyone to see.

He should clean up before heading down for breakfast with the rest of the staff.

He's just flushed the condom when he feels the words pull at him.

"Three months," he vocalizes, and smiles to himself. He could wait three months.

* * *

#

**if you can, please let me know what you think!**


	2. Patience

**author's notes:** dedicated to **spuffina**, who made the original gifset this fic was based on and then made another one based on my drabble. i felt like i should continue the tradition :)

* * *

**FORBIDDEN;;**

**chapter 2**

* * *

"If you keep staring you'll burn a hole in the guy," Nick says, settling down in the chair next to him in the cafeteria.

"Dude." His head jerks to his left. He rolls his shoulders. "Shut up."

And it's as if Mr Anderson _hears_ him staring, because he looks up from his book (splayed open in front of his lunch tray) and stares right at him. It's over as fast as it occurred, his stomach jumps at the sight of those hazel eyes and then they're both looking away, doing what they can to pretend nothing has changed.

Only everything's changed.

His heart rate spikes, cheeks burning and embarrassment blankets everything.

"I mean, I know the guy is hot and you'd be crazy enough to go for that," Nick continues, "but he's a teacher, Sebastian."

"Don't you think I know that?" he asks, too harsh, because Nick's face falls.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry, I was just–"

"I'm sorry," he says, sighing, feeling bad for attacking a friend who has no idea what's going on. And he can never know. "I'm having a bad day."

Only a bad day doesn't quite cut it, his mind possessed by that night with Mr Anderson, _Blaine_, the first time his teacher had allowed any sort of proximity that crossed the line and he'd wanted it, he'd taken it all. And he wanted more.

But Blaine had made it very clear it couldn't happen again. Not without him losing his job, his reputation, his social standing in this school district and maybe even beyond. He wasn't about to destroy a man's life because he couldn't wait three months. Yet every time their eyes cross, every time this week Blaine had ignored his raised hand in class, every time he so much as catches a whiff of those dark curls he's reminded of their feel, thick and sweaty between his fingers, equally dark hair running down his teacher's chest, cock framed by dark pubes and the smell of him and their sex, the taste of his lips.

If he thought he had it bad before, their night together was still making it exponentially worse.

Because he might understand, but he can never forget.

Blaine had been avoiding him all week, no longer mingled with the students during lunch but spent the hour reading or grading papers. In class he was cold and unresponsive, and most of his friends had decided that maybe Blaine was having a tough time at home, maybe a bad break-up or something similar. After class he either asked other students to stay behind to discuss papers, or left right away so he couldn't be approached.

It was frustrating, because they could wait and maybe that would work, but he'd still like to know Blaine the way he did before, not just as a teacher, but a friend as well.

And maybe he had been flirting for months, had been nothing subtle about his interest in_ Mr Anderson_, but he never could have dreamed that would be reciprocated. Up until that night he was still left wondering if Blaine was even gay, always so cautious in his interactions with students, familiar yet reserved, friendly but professional. All the students loved him, and he, well, he was incredibly attracted to Blaine.

It's Friday now and it's been an entire week, seven whole days of waiting and anticipating, of jerking off every morning in the shower and every night in bed with images of Blaine playing in front of his eyes because no one else would do. It's too much and it's not enough, reality never living up to fantasy but the fantasy more real than ever, his fingers becoming Blaine's, an imaginary voice in his ear.

_"Fuck, Sebastian, you want this, don't you?" Blaine asked, a hand kneading at his skin, thrusting in and out of his ass at a ruthless pace, pleasure and pain blurring together and there was only Blaine, only their bodies. "You want this so bad." _

He came with Blaine's name on his lips every time, release thrashing his body, come spilling over his hand and chest and it's worse than he thought. He's more than merely attracted to Blaine. That's why the forced distance between them hurts more than anything.

He can't stand this.

He won't allow it.

.

.

All his nights this past week had been spent in his classroom grading papers, still no office space cleared for him, but he finds comfort in it somehow, the empty classroom, dark but for the light on his desk, the silence. It's a welcome distraction from the activity during the day, students moving in and out, rushing down the halls to get to class in time, shouting, laughing, having carefree fun.

Normally he'd be spending his Friday night in the student lounge, playing cards with some of the students, figure out what's been worrying them about school or a specific class and try to help out where he can. But he can't do that anymore. He's scared out of his mind that he'll catch Sebastian's eyes the wrong way, that someone will see and know what they did. What _he_ did.

He knows it might not be fair, Sebastian didn't do anything wrong, but he can never see him the same way again. But maybe he should've seen it coming, realize that Sebastian wouldn't stay away when it's taking all his strength to maintain this distance. He's exhausted.

That's why he doesn't hear the door open, light footsteps on the tiled floor, a hint of Sebastian's shadow catching his eye too late.

"Sebastian," he startles. "It's after hours. You should be in your room."

Sebastian shrugs, hands in his pockets. "You've been avoiding me all week." Sebastian's not in his uniform, wearing a plain V-neck t-shirt and some washed out jeans. It makes him appear older. "Figured this was the only way to catch you."

"I thought we said–"

"We said three months," Sebastian interrupts.

He takes a deep breath, hoping to keep his head cool. "_You_ said three months," he clarifies, puts down his pen and leans back in his chair. "You also said you understood."

"I do." Sebastian nods solemnly.

"Sebastian, I took advantage of you."

"No, you didn't."

He draws in a breath, averts his eyes. "I know it might not seem that way–"

"I took advantage of you," Sebastian blurts out.

His head snaps up. "What?"

"I'm the one who took advantage," Sebastian says. "You were drunk and I should've–"

"Okay, stop," he says. "Just stop." He gets up behind his desk and rounds it, but keeps a distance his body resents him for. "I shouldn't have gotten drunk on a _school trip_ and put myself in that position."

Sebastian shrugs. "And I shouldn't have been flirting with a teacher."

He shakes his head, can't help but huff a laugh, Sebastian's cockiness more endearing than annoying. He's right though, they could keep at this forever, spiral back to_ I never should have laid eyes on you_, but he'd never actually mean that.

"You're a kid, Sebastian."

Sebastian stalks a step closer, body language suggestive and playful, eyes darkening. "I wasn't when I was taking your cock," he says, words provoking something sinful inside him.

He swallows hard, memories of their night together spinning in front of his eyes like a highlight reel, working Sebastian's ass open with his fingers slick with spit and lube, Sebastian's eyes fearless, body squirming beneath him all flawless skin and endless legs.

"When you fucked my ass."

He releases a shuddery breath, Sebastian backing him up against his desk, a gracious dance between their bodies. Sebastian tilts his head, and he can feel his eyes on him the way he has before, lingering, sweeping, _claiming._

"When you told me to call you Blaine."

_"–Blaine," Sebastian whimpered, undoing him, come spilling deep inside his tight ass._

Sebastian reaches down a hand.

"Don't–" he objects but Sebastian's hand closes over his crotch and he shivers involuntarily, desire coaxing his eyes shut, but then Sebastian pushes in tighter and he has to look, has to see, has to meet those emerald eyes–what choice does he have, there's no way back, no way out, it's _forbidden_, but he's going to give in. There's a heat reaching around him that only comes with another body, another willing participant.

Sebastian's lips are a hair's breadth from his. "You want me," he says softly, palms a half circle over his crotch, his cock hardening.

"I shouldn't," he whispers, relinquishing control of his voice. "Not for–" he gasps, swallows,_ moans_, "–another three months."

Sebastian's eyes find his. "You'd wait for me?" he asks, voice thick with desire, increasing the pressure of his palm.

He releases a choked_ aaah_ before finding some semblance of sanity again, reaching his hands back for his desk, scrambling for anything to hold onto. "_Yes_," he confesses. "Yes, Sebastian, I would." He'll wait, God, he'll wait forever, but his convictions crumble at the seams, Sebastian's ministrations tantalizing.

And then Sebastian's other hand starts undoing his belt, leather band looping through the clasp and he's looking down because he can't believe this is happening again, that he's allowing this again, that this boy manages to break through all his defenses. Sebastian tugs at the button hard on purpose, gauging his every reaction but he's long gone, so hard, so open, so incredibly willing, his voice of reason a dying whisper.

Sebastian pulls down his zipper, the wiggle of his pants down his hips causing friction he's not ready for, cock twitching.

His fingers tighten around the edge of his desk.

"You can't–" he gasps, all thoughts gone when Sebastian's fingers curl around his cock, his hand hot, grip tight and his body quivers. "Oh God–" He throws his head back, Sebastian stroking slowly, thumbing over his tip, his toes curl and he doesn't notice, everything's Sebastian's hand and the steady pressure build-up in his groin, only then it's not justSebastian's hand, it's his tongue over his length, teasing the slit in his tip and he groans so loud he hears the echo down the hallway.

He's beyond reason, beyond sanity, beyond immorality or plain old stupidity, he's_ losing_ it right there with Sebastian's lips around his cock, his hips buck and he hits the back of Sebastian's throat–Sebastian gags a little and grabs hold of his hips, keeping them in place.

"Sebastian," he breathes, a hand in Sebastian's hair, body taut with guilt and the sick excitement of _forboden_-ness, cock throbbing for release. He ventures a glance down and meets Sebastian's eyes, his lips red and swollen around his cock, head bobbing and spit everywhere and he sucks harder–he cries his release too loud, strangled, but the hallways are abandoned, him and Sebastian entangled in a dangerous tryst, alone.

His muscles coil and unspool, Sebastian swallowing him down, and there's no excuse for this, he's not drunk and his faculties aren't impaired and he's not even being safe. But he loves what Sebastian does to his body. His fingers strain and relax in Sebastian's hair, the last jitters of his orgasm flitting through his groin.

He finds Sebastian's eyes, still down on his knees in front of him, a line of come clinging to his lips and he feels his own part; Sebastian looks so beautiful. "Get up," he says, offering a hand.

Sebastian drags himself up from the ground and raises a hand to his face. He catches it mid-air, unwilling to let Sebastian wipe away the evidence of what he did. Of what _they _did. He pulls him closer, Sebastian's body melting pliant against his–he licks at his own come and Sebastian moans, he feels filthy and spent but Sebastian feels hot against him, present in a way no one really has before, a solid mass of boy with a total lack of innocence.

They kiss, and it's filthy too, there's only tongues at first and he can taste himself mixed with Sebastian, he claws at Sebastian's shirt front and back trying to get him even closer but that's impossible, desperation turning him into another person. This is the biggest and best mistake he'll ever make.

"Sebastian," he pants, breaking off.

Sebastian tries to find his lips again but he twists away, their foreheads touching, a struggle of arms and legs and torsos. But Sebastian stills eventually, reaching his hands up into his hair, massaging randomly at his skull. It's maddening.

"Blaine," Sebastian whispers, and like before, like always, the sound of his name falling from Sebastian's lips does something to him, it's grounding but a fantasy at the same time, because in this building he can never be Blaine to Sebastian. Only Mr Anderson.

"We can't," he says.

Sebastian pulls back, an inch or two between them but it makes him aware that he's completely exposed, pants down to his knees. His student turns pensive for a few moments, before looking up at him, his eyes quiet and calm. "I lack patience," Sebastian says, wisdom in his voice, reaching down to pull up his clothes, carefully tugging him back in his pants. There's a distinct lack of distance once again as Sebastian draws up his zipper. "But I'm not a kid."

It sounds like another justification, a means to square this in a place where they can be together without any repercussions. But that place is a dream. "We have to wait," he says. "I like you, Sebastian, but my job–"

What about his job? Even if they somehow manage to wait three months and start something then, Sebastian still has his senior year to get through. And that can't happen with them in a relationship, the school board won't allow it.

He sighs. "Fuck it, it's already over."

A sudden panic spikes in Sebastian's eyes and for a split second he's a boy who comprehends the gravity of their situation, he's a seventeen year old through and through and a pang of guilt stabs at his heart. They can never really be anything with both of them at this school.

Sebastian takes a step back. "I could learn to see the virtue in patience," he says.

The boy disappears again. His heart grows too big for his chest.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian says.

He shakes his head. "It's not your fault," he says softly and moves forward, winding his arms around Sebastian's neck, Sebastian's around his waist, both of them holding onto something undefined.

They stand tangled like that, and lose track of time.

* * *

#

**if you can, please let me know what you think!**


	3. Eighteen

**author's notes:** haha, this is probably the weirdest and fastest (and filthiest) thing i've ever written, but your reaction has been crazy and overwhelming! super special thanks to **spuffina** for never failing to inspire me :) **STORY IS NOW COMPLETE!**

* * *

**FORBIDDEN;;**

**chapter 3**

* * *

_They kiss and none of it matters anymore._

_Not the stupid drunken night that sealed their bond, not the stolen moment in a classroom that never should have happened. _

_Not the fight._

.

"You're leaving?" he storms into the classroom, Nick's words having left behind a stabbing sensation in his chest – _Mr Anderson's leaving, he got a job offer at another school _– and he didn't listen because he didn't believe it, only he did _hear _it and the words sank in deeper every step he took, every step that drew him closer to Blaine.

Blaine startles and seems trapped somehow, a deer caught in headlights, giving him enough indication that Nick had been right. "Yes," Blaine schools his voice, gathering his papers together in a folder, doing what he can to sound unaffected. "There are plenty of other private schools that'll take me."

The indifference kills him, a bitter taste in his mouth and he won't hear it. He took steps after Blaine was avoiding him, what did Blaine expect him to do now?

"You mean other schools where you can_ fuck your students_," he spits, fuelled by the anger in his veins, rattling his bones, an old ache resurfacing he thought he'd mended a long time ago.

Blaine's eyes go wide, struck by fear and confusion and pain, and he takes joy in it; he shouldn't be the only one who feels this, not like before. He was too young to shout at his mother, too naive to think his tears would be enough to bring her back, and he was an idiot to think sex would keep Navid close.

"Sebastian–"

"No," he interrupts. "No!"

He doesn't hold back, he doesn't care who hears, Blaine won't get away with this, not like his mother, not like Navid, because now there's tears in his eyes for a teacher who crossed the line. It's ridiculous but he thinks he–he loves Blaine.

"People always do this," he says. "People always leave. And they don't come back. Not ever."

Blaine rounds his desk but keeps a respectful distance, doesn't push into his personal space now that he's laid open raw. "Sebastian, I'm doing this for us." Blaine's voice is calm and composed and he doesn't need this, he doesn't need to be spoken to like a_ child_. "I love it here, but I care about you too much–"

"Fuck you," he sneers. At least his mother had the decency to keep her feelings out of the equation, to up and leave with a hug and kiss to his forehead but no promise to ever come back. "Fuck all of this. I don't need you!"

Blaine averts his eyes, staring down at the floor, accepting his words for truth and seemingly content with that. But that's not what he wants, he wants Blaine to fight for them. He wants Blaine to say.

"Good," Blaine says. "I never wanted you to need me."

Deep down he hears something different, how Blaine already needs him, how their sparse time together has tattooed itself into his skin, permanent ink on a rough surface.

"We can both move on," Blaine adds.

He can't move beyond this, he's stuck, on Blaine, on them, on these feelings fighting their way out of him, a spinning dive downward where he is the child waiting for his mother to come back, a teenager wanting to keep a boyfriend close, a barely adult in need of a teacher.

"Don't go," he says, legs taking off before the words are out, negating the distance, the indifference, the anger and the hurt–he's never felt more like the boy Blaine needed him to be.

Blaine backs up against the blackboard, chalk staining his clothes and hair white, and then his hands are on him, Blaine's at his waist holding him back and his on Blaine's face pulling him closer.

"Please, don't go," he chokes out, and he's asking for more than the danger, he's asking for Blaine's heart and soul, his body, the risk but most of all reciprocation. He doesn't want to be a boy at heart.

They kiss and there's nothing gentle about it, it's the hard crash of their mouths together, teeth scraping over lips, uncompromising, biting at tongues until they're both sucking and nipping, fingers leaving bruises, kisses marking territory, taking everything they can possibly get.

"I'll wait for you," Blaine pants against his lips. "I swear to you I'll wait."

A desperate whine from one of them, he's not sure who.

"But you have to try to move on," Blaine says.

He pulls back and looks into Blaine's eyes, feeling small even though he's taller.

"Date boys your age," Blaine urges. "Have fun."

"I can't–" he starts, but Blaine's fingers tighten at the small of his back, scratching, _craving_, and he's reminded that his teacher stands to lose the most.

He's not a child, no longer that naive, Blaine never had to explain.

If anyone found out about them it wouldn't matter that he consented, Blaine would be labelled a _child molester_ should anyone take it to court and what he did would be considered _statutory rape_, ugly words, _disgusting_ words to describe anything that happened between them.

So maybe he can do this, try at the very least, for both of them.

"Okay," he consents, even though he doesn't want to, but he lacks the patience to do this right, to wait, he's never been good at waiting, a mother quickly replaced by an absence he carries with him, a boyfriend replaced with nameless lovers. Blaine replaced by–by who? What will he do for three months?

They release each other tentatively, reluctant to let the separation take hold already, but it's a school day and they could easily be caught any moment. So he lets go of Blaine, bats the chalk off his clothes and leans back against the desk, silent as Blaine packs his last boxes together.

Blaine passes him on his way to the door without a word, but he needs to say it.

"I'll see you in three months." He swallows hard, staring up at Blaine with a world of expectation. "Right?"

Blaine takes a deep breath, and sighs, as if his hope fills him with a sadness that'll bleed through in his answer. "You will," Blaine says, and despite the melancholy note he feels relieved.

Unlike his mother, unlike his ex, he actually believes Blaine.

.

_They kiss and nothing matters, not the boys who filled his nights after Blaine left, Eli and Brad and some twink whose name he forgets–all boys his age like Blaine told him, but none of them enough, none of them experienced but most importantly none of them Blaine. _

_Blaine forgives him for it, feels almost thankful in a way, that he considered his saner options, and he thinks he should have told Blaine before he left–he should have said it was love as much as it was lust. _

.

"I didn't think you'd show," Sebastian's voice sounds behind him and he's missed it, the low cadence of a voice matured a few years before, still straining in some places, but he doesn't think that'll change in years to come.

He turns around, taking in Sebastian's body for the first time in three months–he's casually dressed in a t-shirt and a hoodie, some washed-out jeans. It's a Tuesday, the party over before midnight because there are classes in the morning, but Sebastian had stayed behind.

"I almost didn't," he says, and casts down his eyes. "Didn't want to make you feel–"

Sebastian takes a step closer. "Cheap?"

The word has a fear attached to it, that it's exactly how he's making Sebastian feel, that it looks like he came here for sex and nothing more, for a physical relationship no longer illegal.

"Not the word I would've used," he answers, even though it's as apt a term as any. There's the word_ used_, or the phrase_ taken for granted_ or a_ convenient fuck _maybe. But that's not why he's here, he knew that months ago, he's here because he's curious, if the feelings are the same, if it wasn't the danger of it all that had drawn him closer before.

But looking at Sebastian now he thinks no, it was the Sebastian-ness of it all, the cockyness and maybe the flirting a little, the long legs and the dazzling smile, the smarts and the jokes. Not his age.

He holds out the present he wrapped before he ever even considered leaving. "Happy birthday."

Sebastian's eyes narrow. "I don't really do all this sentimental stuff."

He chuckles, not because he particularly disbelieves Sebastian, but because it's really the little things that keep tempting him closer. He thinks they could be good for each other.

"Well, I do," he says, stretching his arm out further.

Sebastian seems apprehensive for another two seconds, and he's struck by a lightning fear that maybe he did something wrong, maybe he read it wrong after all, maybe Sebastian doesn't do the sentimental stuff because he doesn't want their relationship to go beyond the physical. It's silly, because his fear that Sebastian thinks that about him is far greater and now he knows what it must feel like to be on the other side of this. He doesn't want to feel cheap.

"Alright," Sebastian's reply soothes the fear, but only mildly, as he unwraps his present. The paper gives and reveals a book: _Slaughterhouse 5_ by Kurt Vonnegut.

Sebastian looks up, surprise coloring his green eyes.

"I always like to keep an untouched copy of my favorite book around," he explains.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a smile creeps to both corners of Sebastian's mouth. He narrows his eyes on him curiously. "You shouldn't know this about me," Sebastian says.

"I'm very observant," he notes, smiling, remembering all the times he watched Sebastian leafing through his copy, every other page dog-eared, his favorite passages marked in different colors depending on the spacing, the title on the spine worn illegible.

Sebastian stares down at the book, quietly appreciative of the book cover.

The clock strikes twelve.

One day. He's been eighteen for one day.

"Let's go to your place," Sebastian says suddenly, breaking through the silence with a suggestion that sounds dangerous all over again.

"Sebastian–" He sighs, disappointed. He only came here for Sebastian's birthday, it somehow felt disrespectful not to at least show up, but his return never implied them having sex.

Sebastian takes a step closer, playing with his personal space. "It's my birthday," Sebastian says. "And I've missed you." Sebastian draws in a deep breath, tempering his disappointment by showing this kind of maturity again. "I want to know what you've been doing."

He blinks, eyes catching on the beauty spots on Sebastian's neck. "Okay," he breathes.

.

_They kiss and it all matters, every glance, every daydream, every crazy fantasy, the first time their bodies touched and their first kiss._

_Their first real talk._

.

It's close to four in the morning before their conversation dies out, neither of them tired, alive with the electricity crackling between them, the playing field wide open now, no sin tempting them closer together.

But they are tempted.

He doesn't know who makes the first move, he thinks at one point they just looked at each other and knew that it was more, that everything that came before had meant something even if it had been wrong, and then they're kissing and_ fuck it all,_ it's never felt more right.

It's all tongues, everywhere, and he licks a line behind Sebastian's ear, greedy love bites on beauty spotted skin and Sebastian's throat reverberating against his lips with a moan. He reaches down a hand and palms over Sebastian's crotch, already hard for him.

Sebastian grabs his wrist. "No," he says.

He pulls back, lips tingling, realizing Sebastian isn't saying no to him, to what they're about to do, but he has something else in mind. "What do you–" He swallows hard, ready for about anything. "What do you want?"

Sebastian strokes a hot palm over his neck. "I wanna fuck you," he says, voice dipping another octave and at this point he doesn't care what they do, he's ready to relinquish control completely. "Please, Blaine," Sebastian begs when his answer doesn't come immediately, rutting his cock against his leg.

"Yes," he breathes, letting Sebastian's teeth worry his skin now. "Yes."

Before they know it they're stumbling into the bedroom, a quick detour to the bedside drawer for supplies, clothes peeled off like secret whispers, hushed breaths and the violent press of touches. It's hurried and he keeps having to remind himself they have all the time in the world, they're not hiding anymore, but Sebastian's fingers are thumbing his nipples, teeth scraping over his skin and he loves how it walks the line between pleasure and pain, desperation and pure need.

He's on his back on the bed and everything's Sebastian's hands, scalding palms and fingernails, touches that could leave bruises, their cocks hard between their bodies. And then Sebastian's squatting between his open legs, his legs thrown over Sebastian's thighs–and Sebastian starts jerking himself off. He can't will his eyes away, his lips part and his own cock twitches, painfully unattended, Sebastian moaning along with every tantalizingly slow stroke of his own hand.

His legs tighten around Sebastian's thighs, he feels his balls draw up, getting harder by the second, cock throbbing. "_Sebastian,_" he calls, stretching out a hand but Sebastian's just out of reach.

Sebastian looks down at him, a hand on one of his knees but the other only touching himself; he holds up his hand, a trickle of spit down on his palm before he applies it to his erection again. A shiver runs down his spine at the sight of it and he thinks that Sebastian's doing this for him, he's putting on a show, maybe even as payback for making him wait so long.

"You like that, don't you?" Sebastian asks, voice strained, and he nods, because yes,_ yes,_ he likes it down and dirty, uncompromising, bodily fluids mixing and the urge to act on something that's purely primal, instinctual, something he so rarely gives control to.

He releases a loud whimper, vocal chords losing function when Sebastian finally touches him, his finger tracing a circle around his hole, pad flat across and another circle and he clenches down, grasping at air. "F-fuck, Sebastian, stop teasing." He shakes all over, his ribs hurting from the way his body's coiling with desire. "Jesus, just–_please_."

But Sebastian still takes his time, grabs the lube and takes forever to slick up his fingers, pushes in knuckle by knuckle, caressing inside, working his ass open at a maddening pace.

"Fuck me, Sebastian," he says, hands assaulting the sheets. He squirms in Sebastian's lap, fucking himself down on the three fingers driving into his ass, his bearings lost, there's only the steady push and pull of Sebastian's fingers.

"You want my cock, Blaine?" Sebastian asks, curling his fingers inside his ass, tips brushing his prostate and he can see the bead of precome leaking from his hard-on. He throws his head back, reluctant to touch himself because he wants it to be Sebastian, but it's so difficult, temptation coaxing him closer. "God, you're so fucking hot like this," Sebastian moans, lining his cock up with his ass and teasing his tip over his hole.

"Sebastian, _I need you_," he gasps breathlessly, losing all sense of the world when Sebastian pushes inside, something between them becoming heavier, more real, more emotional as Sebastian bottoms out in one hard stroke, pain clawing at his ass from the stretch around Sebastian's cock. "Move," he breathes, "Just fuck me."

And Sebastian's anything but gentle, sets a ruthless pace but they get lost in it, lost in each other, drops of sweat down his face and the almost sick slap of their skins meeting with every thrust. He wants to grab his cock so badly, he's so wound up he's about to snap, but he needs Sebastian's hand.

"Sebastian, t-touch me," he stutters. "Touch me before I–_ahh_!" and then he's spilling without warning, without help, feeling come splat on his chest, the tip of his cock palpitating in synch with every shudder in his groin. He's making noises he never has, his orgasm overwhelming and taking him by surprise.

"Fuck, Blaine." Sebastian kneads at his sides, still fucking his ass, eyes never leaving his even though his pent-up release tempts him.

"Come for me, baby," he pleads, stroking his balls and his cock because he's not completely there yet, he's still hard, still wanting, he needs Sebastian to come in his ass. He thinks it's the endearment that does it, a nickname he'll use over and over, because he's never letting Sebastian go, he'll never leave again.

And Sebastian shakes all over, body straining and then thrashing, a few more thrusts inside his ass before he comes hard, crying out his name. He fists his cock, squeezing at the base and twists his hand up at the tip, shuddering when he comes, eyesight gone for seconds, feeling his own come hit his chin.

He grunts another few jitters, cock going limp and spent, Sebastian staring down at him with parted lips. "You're flawless," he breathes, and before he recaptures the meaning of words Sebastian's leaning down, tongue darting out, licking a long hot line through the semen on his chest. His fingers twist in Sebastian's hair, tighten, unclench, Sebastian lapping up every drop of come. Yes, he does like this, the thought of himself in Sebastian's mouth, the thought of Sebastian dripping out of his ass.

Sebastian raises himself up, hovers over him, breathing hard, lips swollen and smeared, his green eyes alight with–_with love_. And God, does he love Sebastian too. He wants it all with Sebastian, the intimacy and the sex, and maybe even a little bit of heartbreak, because that's part of it, it's part of them.

He reaches both his hands up for Sebastian, pulling him down. Sebastian's face settles in the crook of his neck, his legs twist higher around Sebastian's waist, and they lie there, sated, silent, entangled, a mass of bodies becoming one.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian mutters, a shudder running through his body, and he knows Sebastian apologizes for everything, for the temptation, for allowing him to sin, for being this boy in his presence.

"I know," he whispers, carding a hand through Sebastian's hair. He forces Sebastian up by his shoulders. "I'm sorry too," he says. He apologizes for more things than his mind can encompass.

Sebastian leans in and presses his lips to his.

_They kiss, and none of it matters anymore. _

* * *

#

**if you can, please let me know what you think!**


End file.
